


Hail Mary

by scrub456



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: American Football, Gen, Greg loves American Football, Indianapolis Colts, NFL UK, Post-Case, This Is STUPID, because i'm a fangirl, hail Mary is a football thing, no I'm not kidding, no one named Mary is in this story, real person Andrew Luck is a character in this story, you don't really have to understand football to understand this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/pseuds/scrub456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew Luck helps John and Sherlock stop a murderer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hail Mary

**Author's Note:**

> _NFL quarterback for the Indianapolis Colts (my team! #Coltstrong) Andrew Luck was in London this past weekend for an NFL UK fan event. So obviously, this happened. This is... stupid. It's gratuitous fangirl head canon fodder for me, and that is all._
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> *The other players I mention in this story are all currently on the Colts roster for the upcoming season.
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> **Just in case, here's a good example of a [hail mary](https://youtu.be/iCemfI5L-y0)
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> ***Nice guy [Andrew Luck](https://youtu.be/Onj4EQ5-5oI)

"Does anyone care to tell me how it is that an NFL UK exhibition event tent ended up on fire? I'd really like to know." Lestrade stopped his pacing and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Chief really wants to know, and he's not going to let it go until one of you explains what happened. And the NFL wants their tent back, but what's left of it is in evidence until someone talks." Placing both hands palm down on the table, he leaned forward and sighed. "Please, somebody talk."

Across the table and to his left sat Sherlock in all his condescending glory. His greatcoat wrapped around him like a force field, despite the fact that it was the middle of July, Sherlock was perched sideways on his chair, so that his back was to the other men at the table. His right leg was crossed over his left at the knee, his hands were neatly folded in his lap, his shoulders squared, and he was staring imperiously at the blank wall straight ahead of him.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade tapped his index finger on the table impatiently. Sherlock lifted one hand and dismissed him with the flick of his wrist.

Rolling his eyes, Lestrade turned his attention to John sitting directly across from him. If it were possible for a man to sit at attention, John would find a way. He glanced at the back of Sherlock's head, and then at Lestrade with a bemused look on his face. It was only then Lestrade noticed John was uncharacteristically fidgety -- twisting the cardboard sleeve around and around his paper coffee cup. John caught his eye again, and with both eyebrows raised, he inclined his head slightly to his left, in a silent _"bloody hell, can you believe who I'm sitting next to right now."_ Lestrade let the corner of his mouth tick upwards just a beat in his own silent response.

Lestrade took a deep breath and looked to his right. 

When he woke up that morning, Greg Lestrade knew there was a distinct possibility he would encounter Sherlock, and then of course John; an inevitability, really. What he was not prepared for was to be called out to arrest a potential murder suspect who had been apprehended with some force (if the hundreds of mobile phone videos uploaded to social media were any indication) in the middle of an athletic demonstration at the NFL UK Fan Forum. It wasn't the fact that Sherlock had deduced a representative from the NFL to tears that was shocking, nor the fact that John had the suspect pinned to the ground with his knees. No the truly unexpected component was that apparently central to the melee was the man sitting next to John, National Football League quarterback for the Indianapolis Colts, Andrew Luck. 

Andrew Luck was grinning back at him. Andrew. Bloody. Luck. 

Lestrade wasn't an expert on American football. Not by any means. But he had taken an interest when they'd started up The World League of American Football* (sounded like a bad super villain organization, thankfully they'd eventually changed it to NFL Europe). He'd casually followed the Birmingham Fire, but the team was only active in England for two seasons. The franchise was eventually moved to Germany and renamed the Rhein Fire, and a retired NFL quarterback from the States, Oliver Luck, was hired as the team's General Manager. The team went to three World Bowl championship games, and won two under Luck's leadership. Lestrade was at the game in 1998 at Waldstadion when the Fire won their first championship title.

When he'd discovered that G.M. Oliver Luck had a son who was quickly gaining attention with his skills as quarterback at the collegiate level, Lestrade took an interest. He followed young Andrew's career at Stanford, and into the NFL. He picked the Indianapolis Colts as his favorite team, and ordered a jersey with the number twelve on it. He tracked stats. He memorized rosters. Greg Lestrade joined a fantasy football league. When John asked him about it, Lestrade was happy to explain, and overjoyed when his friend expressed at least a casual interest. John didn't own a jersey or join a fantasy league, but if you asked him, the Colts were his team. And it was all because of the man sitting across the table and to Lestrade's right (John's left).

"Mister Luck," Lestrade began.

"Andrew, please." Another grin.

"Right, Andrew." Lestrade stood upright, and glanced at John, who was doing his best to not stare in awe. "I apologize that you are mixed up in all of this. I'm sure it's a mistake, and I'd be happy to..."

Clearing his throat, Andrew raised his hand as if he were about to answer a question at school. It was ridiculously endearing. Neither Lestrade nor John could help staring at him. Sherlock's scoff broke the spell, and Lestrade nodded at Andrew.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade..."

"You can call me Greg," Lestrade interrupted. _Idiot._ He had no idea why he said that. This was a professional investigation. He looked at John who was smirking at him, and he could hear Sherlock mumbling to himself about professionalism.

Andrew just nodded. "Greg, it's not a mix up at all. I can tell you what happened. At least what I saw."

"Wonderful. Do you mind if we record this?" Lestrade pulled his recorder out. John snickered and covered it with a cough. Poorly. Sherlock huffed his disdain.

"It's fine." Andrew shrugged. Lestrade clicked the recorder on and motioned for him to start talking. "I was at the convention center for a Fan Forum, and we had moved outside to the tent. I was going to demonstrate a few passes, throw some balls to the fans. You know, just have some fun. Maybe pass a few with some kids."

"Sure," Lestrade nodded. Sherlock scoffed once more.

"When this man came running into the tent. He was shoving people, and shouting, knocked over a little girl. He might have had a weapon, but I couldn't really see. And then Doctor Watson..."

"John. And he had a tyre lever." John interjected, in an effort to be helpful.

" _John_ and Mister Holmes..." Andrew paused and everyone turned to look at Sherlock. He ignored them entirely. Lestrade rolled his eyes and motioned for Andrew to continue. "...they ran in right after the guy, shouting for people to stop him and not let him get away. No one was really listening to them, they were too busy trying to get away from the guy with the..."

"Tyre lever," John supplied once more.

"Right." Andrew nodded. "I could tell John and Mister Holmes were trying to stop him from hurting someone else, so I just shouted 'go long,' and everyone cleared a path. And then I threw a Hail Mary."

"You... threw a Hail Mary?" Lestrade blinked.

"Just lobbed it as high and as hard as I could."

"It was beautiful Greg, you should have seen it." John gushed, and then bit down on the inside of his cheek.

Andrew shrugged. "I don't know about that. I just pretended the guy was my receiver and threw it. A clutch situation, you know? I didn't mean to hit him in the head like that... I hope he's okay."

"Oh for godsake, he's a murderer." Sherlock pounded his fist on the table. "Who cares if he's okay? Lestrade, this is ludicrous, and you know it. If you want to ask me questions about the actual case, then do so now. Otherwise I will text you the pertinent details, and you can bring the paperwork to Baker Street. John will fill it out later." He waited just a moment for a response. "No? Very well, come along, John."

"I don't know why you're so upset, you caught the ball!" John laughed. "I swear to God Greg, it was brilliant. A-andrew," John stuttered, still in awe of the huge man sitting next to him, "threw the ball, it hit Rhoades, ricochets straight up off his head, and when it came down, Sherlock just snatched it right out of the air like it was nothing. People cheered."

Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and slumped back in his chair with a huff. "They were cheering for you and your heroics, John."

"That is true. Oh man, John, that was impressive. Did you ever play?" Andrew was grinning at John.

"Not football no. Rugby was my sport. Team captain in uni." John actually blushed. 

"I knew it! The way you tackled that guy, went for the knees. Seen a few guys do that on the field, and they always say it's rugby rules." Andrew stood up then. "Show Greg how you did that, John. You can hit me..."

"It's okay, really, I've seen John tackle guys before. I'll take your word for it." Lestrade motioned for Andrew to sit back down. "Okay, so now I know how Rhoades ended up subdued. What about the tent?" John and Andrew looked at each other and shrugged. 

"Sorry, Greg." 

"Yeah, I didn't see anything." Andrew added.

Sherlock sighed in frustration. "The food vendors were set up entirely too near that tent. Review the footage. The event planners are responsible for the damage to their own property. Are we done _now?_ " 

"Yes, Sherlock. You are done now." Greg shook his head.

"Wait, before you go..." Andrew stood up again, and Sherlock reflexively drew himself up as tall as he could, though he was still nearly ten centimeters shy. "I just want to say that I'm a huge fan. Doct... John, I follow your blog. I've read it all the way through so many times. I subscribe to the London papers just so I can follow you. Huge fan. I'm kind of geeking out here."

"Y-you... You read my blog?" John sat back, gobsmacked.

"Not just me, man, the other guys love it. Especially Pat and Adam. Those two guys are the ones who showed it to me."

"No." John shook his head.

"Pat McAfee and... and Adam Vinatieri?" Greg pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Oh man, Pat is going to be so jealous I met Sherlock Holmes and John Watson! 

"You helped stop a murderer from escaping. That'll be going in the blog for sure!" John laughed. "Oh my god. I need pictures. So many pictures."

"I guess I did help stop him. Neat!"

" _Neat_?" Sherlock huffed in disgust.

"So do you guys watch American football?" Andrew asked. 

"I only started because of Greg. We're Colts fans though, because of you."

"I've been following you since university. And before that, I was at the 1998 World Bowl game when your dad's team won." Greg explained.

"No way! Really? Wow! He would love to hear about that. He's here... Well, not here, but here, in London. We're going to dinner later. You guys want to come? Dwayne's coming too."

"Dwayne... Dwayne Allen is here?" Greg carded his hand through his hair. "Somebody pinch me. Is this for real?"

"I've got some jerseys and things back at the display, I can get you guys some stuff if you want it." Andrew shrugged. "The Colts are playing the Jaguars at Wembley in October. I'll get you passes, let you meet some of the other guys." 

"Bloody hell. Wembley? Yeah, mate. Thanks" John nodded. Greg could only grin.

Sherlock threw his hands in the air. "This is absurd. Are any of you even speaking English? Mr. Luck, I wish you the best in your... athletics." He scribbled something on a scrap of paper, slid it across the table, and stormed from the room.

John examined the sheet of paper. "Oh my god. He signed his autograph for you." He held it up for Greg and Andrew to see. Sherlock had written exactly his parting words, and then signed it with a flourish. The three men looked at each other and burst into laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> *All that stuff in the middle about Oliver Luck and Andrew Luck is true. It's the only part of this that is not made up.


End file.
